Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 121312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Less than ten minutes later, another knock sounded.
“Go away. I get it, I’m stupid!” I really couldn’t bear another talk with Diego.
The door opened and Mom peeked inside. Her brows crinkled and worry filled her face when she scanned my eyes. “Oh, Gemma. It’s not as bad as it seems.” She came over to me and stroked my head. “Is Michelangelo really that bad of a choice?”
“Apart from his name, you mean?” I said with a small smile, not wanting to worry Mom. She’d been feeling faint a lot since she was pregnant.
She smiled. “I’m sure his parents had a good reason for giving him this name.”
I gave her a doubtful look. Any child given the name Michelangelo had huge shoes to fill and could only fail to do so, especially given that Mick wasn’t the firstborn and wouldn’t become Captain.
“I know you probably don’t feel like it, but Mick and his father are coming over for dinner to celebrate the union.”
“Oh, no, Mom. He’ll know I’ve cried and he’ll feel horrible knowing it’s because of him. I don’t want to make Mick feel bad. It’s not his fault.” Well, technically, it was. He must have asked for my hand, but I couldn’t really blame him for having the guts to ask for my hand. It was nice knowing he liked me enough to consider marriage.
“You’re too kind-hearted, sweetheart. But we can do something about your eyes. We still have two hours. Why don’t you take a shower and I’ll look for a nice dress that you can wear?”
I nodded, not even in the mood to argue about Mom choosing my clothes. She’d opt for a modest dress, which was the message I wanted to send Mick anyway.
Two hours later, I was dressed in my knee-long, high-collared dark blue dress but other than in church, I wore my hair down because that way, it covered the red blotches still marring my throat from crying.
When the bell rang, nerves tightened my stomach. I’d known Mick even longer than Savio, but meeting someone after you found out he was going to be your husband was something else.
Dad and Diego went to get the door while Mom, Nonna, and I waited in our small dining room. Nonna touched my cheek, her crow’s feet deepening as she gave me a wistful smile. “I still remember when I met your grandpa for the first time. It was such a special day.”
I took her hand and squeezed, forcing a smile. Nonna and Grandpa had found love in their arranged marriage. Maybe I could find it, too, if I only stopped thinking about Savio. Voices rang out and then Diego walked in followed by Mick who was dressed in a white shirt and trousers and carrying red roses.
I flushed. He came toward me with a hesitant smile, but, in his eyes, I could see pride. Knowing that he was so pleased to marry me felt nice, but when I looked at him, there were no butterflies or heat waves. He was nice to look at, very tall and slightly muscled, and yet he wasn’t who I wanted.
Mick handed me the flowers and leaned forward as if he was going to kiss my cheek, but Diego cleared his throat. Rolling his eyes at my brother, Mick straightened. I gave him a quick smile to make up for Diego’s obnoxiousness. Diego didn’t move from my side. “Hey Mick, this is the first time you meet Gemma as your fiancée.” He jerked his chin toward his friend in a sort of greeting that came off like a warning. “Just remember she won’t officially be yours for the next two years.”
Two years before I’d marry Mick and be his wife—forever. Before we’d share a bed. I checked out Mick discreetly, trying to imagine being intimate with him, kissing him. But every time I tried, Savio’s face popped up. Heat crept up into my cheeks. Diego gave me a questioning look and I quickly tore my gaze away. I needed to stop thinking about Savio. Fidelity was the foundation of any marriage and even just thinking of another man when I was promised to Mick was wrong.
Mick’s father came toward me and extended his hand. He wasn’t smiling and the way he was checking his surroundings with barely hidden disdain, I knew why. He’d probably hoped his son would make a better match, someone who came from, or rather with money. “It’s a pleasure meeting you, Gemma.”
He was a good liar, I had to give it to him. Mick could obviously see past his father’s mask because his expression flashed with embarrassment.
“Thank you, sir. It’s a pleasure meeting you too,” I said in my best choir girl voice. He released me and turned back to Dad. They settled at the table. Mom and Nonna disappeared, probably toward the kitchen and I was about to follow to help when Dad motioned for me to sit.